


Outtakes and Extras

by rainygalaxynerd



Series: No Traditional Pain 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: #Illegal identity change, Background story, First Meeting, Gen, Inappropriate thinking, Step dad, Timestamp, To the nosy next door neighbor, Tribute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainygalaxynerd/pseuds/rainygalaxynerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles pertaining to the chapter story 'No Traditional Pain'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl Next Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place nearly ten years before events of 'No Traditional Pain'. Can be read with no spoilers after reading chapter 25.

She’s been living there for two days. She still sleeps on a pile of laundry, hasn’t made anything but oatmeal and pasta in the kitchen, and eats sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at a wall. Yesterday she got a job, waiting tables at a diner. First shift tomorrow. The pay is good enough that she’ll be able to pay her next rent without turning to the cash hidden in the tiny freezer. _‘Cool cash’_ she had thought, when she decided to put it there.

She’s on her way into town, ready to go through umpteen thrift stores to find clothes that will fit her better than the too big hand-me-downs she has. As she locks her door behind her, the door on her right opens, and an elderly lady stiffens in her tracks, staring at her.  
“Who are you?” the woman asks without preamble. It catches her off guard. She’s only had a real name for about a week. She stutters a little when she answers.  
“Caitlin. Smith. I just moved in.” The woman gives her an appraising look.  
“Are you a… partygirl?” The word partygirl comes out sounding like terrorist.  
“No,” Caitlin says, smiling softly as she understands what is going on.

The woman holds out her hand for a shake.  
“I’m Mrs. Davies,” she says. “If you have any questions, you come to me, Dear.”  
“Yes, Mrs. Davies,” Caitlin says obediently. Mrs. Davies nods to herself.  
“Come by later for a cup of coffee.” It’s not a question, and Caitlin merely nods, before continuing down the stairs.

It’s four o’clock when Caitlin tentatively knocks and Mrs. Davies throws the door open as if she was waiting right behind it. She’s lead to a dining room, with a large mahogany table and sturdy chairs. The walls are covered in paintings and shelves with porcelain figurines. The centerpiece is an old wedding photograph. The groom is staring more downwards than into the camera, while the bride smiles brightly at anyone who will ever see the picture, her hand possessively clutching her husband’s. The other end of the room contains a flat screen TV and a recliner. The recliner is dark green with tassels seemingly everywhere.

A cup of coffee appears in front of Caitlin, as well as a plate with a piece of dry marble cake. Mrs. Davies sits down across from her, nursing her own cup.  
“So,” she says after sipping her coffee, “what’s your story, Dear? You seem young to be living on your own.” Caitlin lifts her own cup for a sip, delaying her answer. She ends up coughing violently; the coffee is more alcohol than coffee. Mrs. Davies smiles.  
“You like it? It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

When Caitlin is done sputtering, she nods politely and braces herself for the interrogation Mrs. Davies will conduct.  
“I’m here to study,” she says carefully. “I’ll be working too, so I won’t be home much.”  
“Your family can’t help you with money?” _‘Wauw’_ Caitlin can’t help but think. _‘She really doesn’t pull the punches.’_  
“Don’t have any family.” _‘Brad and Cody are **not** my brothers. Their dad is **not** my father.’_  
“Ah. Pity,” Mrs. Davies simply says and it’s a relief that she doesn’t try to comfort Caitlin with platitudes or offer uncomfortable amounts of sympathy.

“So what will you be studying?”  
“Hopefully I’ll be accepted into pre-med next year,” Caitlin says and feels herself blush a little. There are voices in the back of her head, hateful voices, telling her that she’s ridiculous, worthless and stupid. That her dreams are unrealistic to say the least.

“That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Davies says. “It would certainly be nice to have a competent doctor as a neighbor.” Caitlin smiles, feels out of place. Waits for Mrs. Davies to continue, saying it’s too bad that won’t happen. Instead, Mrs. Davies says:  
“Of course, when you finish, you won’t be staying here. You’ll find someplace much nicer to live.” Her tone is matter of fact, completely devoid of any bitterness. Devoid of any doubts that Caitlin will someday be a doctor.

When they say goodbye, Caitlin is more than a little fuzzy from emptying the one cup of ‘coffee’ she had. Mrs. Davies is smiling and telling her to take care. Promising not to get in Caitlin’s way too often, since she’ll obviously be very busy with her studies and work. Somehow Caitlin knows that she hasn’t been treated to her last cup of schnapps with a dash of coffee, but that it will be a long time before it happens again. Mrs. Davies is not a friend. She is the nosy next door neighbor. It’s kind of nice.


	2. The Born-Again Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place nearly ten years before the events of 'No Traditional Pain'. Can be read without spoilers after reading chapter 26.

She walks into the small cluttered office, her grip on the bag in her hands white knuckled. Five months, in which she has cursed herself and every human on the planet, is in the bag. 

The man behind the desk looks like he has never seen sunshine in his entire life. His face, slightly rodent-like, hides behind ridiculously large and heavy looking Clark Kent glasses. The keyboard taps along in a staccato rhythm speaking of inhuman competence. The name on the sign on the desk, barely visible among papers and nit pickings, says Mr. Willow.

After ignoring her for a full minute, the grey eyes swimming behind the glasses turn to her and the keyboard grows silent.

“Yes?” Mr. Willow’s tone is clipped, voice pitched too high for even this man’s humble size.  
“I was told you could help me,” she begins softly, looking at the desk rather than into his eyes.  
He interrupts before she can continue.  
“I don’t help people, Sweetheart.” The words are cold, impatient. “Now scoot. I’ve got work to do.”  
She fumes, her mind caught up in a place of the past, a place where she had to run and fight and hide, and the memory only makes her forget her cautiousness.  
“And does the work you have to do pay as well as I would?” Her dark eyes meet his disdainful scrutiny head on. She slowly empties the contents of the bag on the floor in front of her, crumpled fives and tens spilling everywhere. 

Mr. Willow merely arches an eyebrow.  
“And how much is there?”  
“Five thousand.”  
“Hmm.” He considers her. “And what do you think five thousand will buy you?”  
“A new name. A social security number.” She keeps her voice firm. Those she really need. After a pause, she adds more tentatively: “Maybe… Maybe a driver’s licence?”

She is wearing jeans, a tee shirt, and a jacket too thin to provide protection from the winds of the Seattle fall. The clothes are clean enough but seem too big for her. A pair of ragged converse, obviously wet all the way through, clings to her feet. She stands perfectly still as he regards her, her breathing too fast and her eyes fastened on the desk in front of her.

“I suppose you want me to add a high school diploma with that?” Sarcasm cools the temperature of his voice further.  
“I can earn that on my own, thanks,” she replies icily. That causes him to smile, suddenly. The girl, the young woman in front of him, is a go-getter - not a freeloader.  
“What’s your name?”  
She doesn’t answer, simply gives him a blank look.  
“No preferences?”  
She shakes her head no. 

“You look like a Caitlin. That okay?”  
She shrugs, indicating that whatever he chooses is fine. That attitude isn’t exactly normal.  
“You murder someone?”  
She stares at him in utter disbelief.  
“No, but I might.”  
He raises his hands placatingly.  
“Sorry. Just wondering.”  
She is silent again, and thus lets him continue to wonder to his heart’s content.

Half an hour later, he hands her a social security card, a birth certificate, and a driver’s licence. Meanwhile she has collected the pile of money and put them into the bag again. She hands it over and tucks the papers containing her new identity in her pocket. He opens the bag, fish out somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred dollars and hands the rest back. 

A hundred covers his expenses. She could probably use the rest.

Caitlin takes the money back, movement slow and uncertain. She opens her mouth to thank the man, but no words come out. What does he expect instead? She turns and quickly leaves his office, flat out running through the hallway outside and down the stairs, ignoring the elevator. 

Three blocks gone, she carefully pulls out her shiny new ID. Smith. Caitlin Smith. She finally has a name. She hefts the bag closer to her. A name and more money than she could have hoped for. Mentally, she’s already making a list of things she needs to achieve her goals. Her first priority is a place of her own.


	3. There Will Be Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little companion piece for No Traditional Pain. Can be read after chapter 28 with no spoilers.

She walks fast, balancing three coffees and a large bag, lost in thought. Alone, for now. An easy victim, if Daliashakra ever saw one. After her, when she’s dry, it will be time to move again, find a new place to feed. Daliashakra has avoided hunters for centuries, had taught the clan how to avoid making patterns for the hunters to follow. Taught them not to use the empty buildings and caves they crave. Yet here, Dali has been careless. Has fed when hungry, dwelled where natural. It has been over a year, and Dali still feels the clan’s absence as a sharp physical pain. They shouldn’t have tried for revenge, should have accepted the loss of a foolish young one, unable to heed the warnings; a young one lost to hunters because of the patterns made. Now, they are all gone.

The woman passes Dali’s hiding place in a side alley. Launching forward, making a grab for her, Dali can already taste the scent of her sweet blood on the tongue. All it takes is one touch, then the poison will finish the job. The woman, however, must have sensed something wrong. She spins and clogs him, and she’s a fighter. Djinn are strong, body and mind, not easy to rattle, but Dali feels the punch enough to stagger backwards. Precious seconds lost, as the woman turns to run.

Dali brings out the heavy iron kunai, a remnant from the world travels of the Djinns that came before humans forgot their existence. Throwing the weapon requires delicate skill; it’s all too easy to kill the target, sinking the point deep through the skull. Dali never stopped practicing and easily hits the woman with simply the heavy weight of the flat surface of the multi functional knife/shovel/club. She goes down in a limp heap of barely breathing unconsciousness. No one is around to see, as he drags her into the alley and further towards his hideout; the poison already worming its way into her vacant mind.

Hanging next to the others, hooked up to an IV tube (oh sweet progress, each victim lasting so much longer now), she tastes every bit as nectarous as Dali expected. High on her blood, the ache of loneliness pushed temporarily aside, Dali floats blissfully until she stirs. Too soon, not time for another dose of poison yet, but her eyes are open, seeing. Dali dives into her dream and understands. It happens sometimes; hunters think monsters are evil but what they do is nothing compared to what humans do to each other. The woman wanted her parents to live, a common wish; it would have kept the human monsters out of her life. But she is already broken now and can’t conform to a reality without the hurt. Dali sighs and strokes her hair, calming her. 

“Wish again, little girl.” Dali stays in her mind to make sure she won’t hurt herself again. The wish is a word and a feeling, ‘Dean’ and _warmsaferighthomelove_. Dali knows better than to simply let the poison work alone this time. Dean has to know about her past, has to know that _warmsaferighthomelove_ isn’t what it means to most. Has to be okay with that. Dali picks all the information in the woman’s mind about ‘Dean’ and shapes a past to make them compatible. When it is done and she dreams peacefully, Dali sits on the cold floor, eyes closed, thinking.

Dean is a hunter. Dean is Dean Winchester, brother of Samuel Winchester. The Winchester brothers of the Campbell clan of hunters. The very reason for all the pain and loneliness. Dali should run, should leave now, now now. Revenge solves nothing. Revenge means deaths. But there’s only one left to die. When Dali gets up, hours later, it is to get ready. Wards, traps, everything to put the hunters at a disadvantage. Obviously Dean has a soft spot for the woman; something Dali can use against him. It has to work. It has to.


	4. Shut Up, Dr. Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read this after you've read chapter 33 of No Traditional Pain to avoid spoilers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!!! There is nothing explicit in this tiny piece of writing but my 'deep web expert' husband rates it as an 8 on the creepy scale. If sexual abuse/child abuse triggers you do not read!

He’s watching her again. She’s grown over night, for sure. More like a carbon copy of her mother every day. Saul’s chest aches with the loss, no less than the day the coroner left with his wife’s body. It’s no longer possible to simply ignore the girl, not now that she’s filling out the ghostly shapes of her mother’s beloved curves. For years he’s been looking anywhere but at her; now he can’t look away.

It’s an impulsive decision, as he drives past the shop window and the dress just calls to him. He parks at the curb and stands in front of the display, pictures the dress on his beautiful Lily-lady and can’t resist.

Dinner is roast and Sarah makes it exactly like her mother did. She moves around the kitchen with practiced easy steps, never leaving the shadow Lillian left behind. After, the boys leave; going over to a friend’s house. Saul waits until the dishes are done and calls Sarah to him.

She approaches him warily, unsure of his intentions. After all, he only ever speaks to her out of necessity. He smiles at her as he unfolds the dress he bought her.  
“I saw this and thought of you.” [your mother] “Why don’t you try it on, Sweetheart?”

When Sarah re-enters the living room wearing the dress, it’s a revelation. Saul has prayed to God every day. Prayed for help, for something to fill up the hole in his chest, to ease the longing in his soul. Has cursed his step daughter for being a constant reminder of everything he lost. But now… now he understands. She is the answer to his prayers, she is his salvation.


	5. How To Win Friends And Influence Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little father and son quality time in between trial hearings and bargaining with their lawyers.

“They offered me a deal. Fifteen years, out in ten on good behavior, low-security prison.” Saul glanced up quickly before returning to pushing his mashed potatoes around his plate.

“That sounds pretty good. What’s the catch?” 

Saul lifted his fork, a glob of sticky white paste dripping from it. He put it down again and pushed his plate away. “They want me to testify against you.”

“Well, screw them!” Cody clenched his fists. “Screw ‘em.” When Saul said nothing, Cody’s expression turned incredulous. “You’re not gonna do it, are you?”

Saul kept his eyes at the now empty table in front of him. “They showed me a video of Brad, from his trial. He… He said some things…” Saul met Cody’s narrowed gaze with wide, wet eyes. “He said that you… Did you?” 

Cody scoffed. “Did I what? Did I get him drunk when he was eleven? Did I tell him about what Sarah was good for? Did I show ‘im? Or you askin’ about something else? You askin’ if I took him to a club and got him fucked when I found out he liked it up the ass? Is that what you wanna know, Dad?”

Saul banged his fist against the table, sending his food tray flying. “Dammit, boy, how could you? Your own brother, you, you pimped out your own brother!”

Cody leaned back, arms crossed. “You’re the one who showed me what to do with a set of holes. How is it any different than what you did to our little sister?”

Saul stood, leaned over the table, grabbing for Cody’s shirt. “Your _step_ sister, you piece of shit. She wasn’t family. She wasn’t our blood. You bastard, assho…”

A guard yanked Saul away from Cody. “Okay, that’s it on Springer for tonight, folks,” he told the inmates observing the spectacle. “You’ll be sleeping in solitary tonight, old man.”

Another guard escorted Cody to his cell though it was some time to lights out. 

“I never fucked my brother,” Cody told him, his body vibrating with pent up anger. “He wanted me to, you know. Disgusting. That’s why I gave him to my friends. So he’d stop wanting it.”

The guard gave him a rough push into the cell and shut the door. “I’m not a psychiatrist or anything, but dude, you sound like a greek tragedy. You should see someone.”

The guard turned his back on Cody’s continued ravings. 

An hour later, another guard took Cody to the infirmary where a doctor gave him a mild sedative.

XOXOX

The next morning, Saul was found dead in the solitary cell, the sheet wrapped around his neck and tied to the sink. It appeared he had simply leaned backward until losing consciousness and the pressure around his neck had stayed tight enough to finish the job. The coroner placed the time of death sometime between 1 am and 2 am.

Still, the warden went through the security footage as procedure prescribed. Around one am, there was a short power fluctuation or something, causing the cameras to stop recording for a few minutes. Coincidence. Not important. Then it happened again, twenty-two minutes later. He watched the rest of the tapes. There were no other irregularities.


End file.
